


Carry Me

by watanuki_sama



Category: Common Law
Genre: Five Things Format, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:18:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watanuki_sama/pseuds/watanuki_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Travis carries Wes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry Me

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 12/07/2012 on ff.net under the penname 'EFAW'.
> 
> Written for a prompt on common_meme on lj. Prompt is the summary of the fic. Except I didn't fulfill the slash requirement so I don't think it counts.

_“Now I need you to carry me just a little bit further…if you can.”  
-Private Tracy Smith _

\---

1\. _Fireman_

“This is your fault because you’re so damn competitive, you know.”

Wes glares up at him from his ungainly sprawl on the grass and points at Travis. “ _Me? I’m_ the competitive one?! You’re the one who full-on tackled me in _touch football_! I think you broke my hip.”

Travis rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “I did not break your hip. Come on, get up, we’ve got a game to play.”

Wes outright growls and tries to climb to his feet, only to go pale and clutch his knee when he puts weight on his left leg. “Shit. _Shit_. You didn’t break my hip, you broke my knee!”

Travis is not one to scoff at people in pain. However, he is more than willing to scoff at what a baby Wes is being. “I didn’t break your knee, either,” he grumbles, crouching down in front of his partner. Before Wes can complain, Travis shoves Wes’s hands away and yanks the loose sweatpants up.

He winces. Wes’s knee is swollen and already starting to bruise, purple and black standing stark against his pale skin. “Damn, I totally didn’t mean to do that. Sorry, man.”

“It’s fine,” Wes snarls, tugging the pants down over his leg again. He glowers at Travis. “You can make it up to me by buying me lunch for…forever. Now help me up.” He holds out his arm. Travis, contrite, carefully pulls Wes to his feet and doesn’t tease him or anything as he slings Wes’s arm over his shoulder and moves towards the bench.

Wes hisses with the first step, and Travis rocks to a halt. When Wes tries to go on, Travis just scowls and doesn’t move. “Dammit, stop being stubborn. Right now.”

“I’m _fine_ , Travis.”

“You are not fine and I’m not letting you walk on that leg. You’ll just damage yourself more. And then you’ll be stuck at your desk and you’ll do nothing but grumble and grouse at me and I’m going to hate that even more than you will.”

“So what do you suggest we do, Travis?” Wes snaps, waving an arm. “The bench is twenty feet away. Are you going to carry me?” Travis gets a gleam in his eye; Wes gets a horrified look on his face. “No. No, don’t you dare---Travis!”

Travis grips Wes’s wrist, bends, and in one smooth move slings Wes over his shoulder in a perfect fireman’s carry (thank you, foster brother number twelve). Whistling jauntily, Travis starts towards the bench, pretending not to notice every spectator at the police barbeque watching and laughing.

_“Travis!”_

For the next three weeks, the office bulletin is full of pictures of Wes, upside-down over his partner’s shoulder, trying to throttle Travis.

\---

2\. _Piggyback_

The drugs wear off on Travis faster than they wear off on Wes. Travis would appreciate that if it were something that knocked them out. But no, Travis is never that lucky. Instead, it was a paralytic, so Travis is up and exploring this abandoned office in this abandoned warehouse they’ve been dumped in while Wes sits there grousing and not doing anything helpful because of the stupid drug.

Travis hates smart criminals. Smart criminals who knew better than to kill a pair of cops, who hid their faces while they drugged said cops, and who dumped the cops in an abandoned house while they made their escape. They’re probably in the next state by now. Dammit.

He tunes out Wes’s grumbling and pushes at the door. The door swings open at his touch. Maybe the criminals aren’t so smart. Or maybe they knew they’d have enough time after drugging and dumping Wes and Travis and they didn’t need to lock the door.

Either way, it’s an out.

“Hey, Wes, can you move yet?”

There’s a minor pause in the grumbling, and then Wes sighs and says, “I can sort of move my hands.” Travis turns to see Wes lifting his hands, about six inches off his lap. They shake like butterflies in a storm.

“Well, that’s not helpful,” Travis says, because his mouth is made to say annoying unhelpful things at _exactly_ the wrong time.

Wes shoots him his _I hate you so much right now, you don’t even know_ look. “Thanks, Travis, I’m really doing my best to be as useless as possible. Love the support.”

Travis rolls his eyes and crouches down in front of his partner. “That’s not what I meant. You know that’s not what I meant. Stop being contrary.” Still squatting, he turns around. “Now, climb on.”

There’s a long pause. Travis doesn’t have to see to imagine the look on Wes’s face.

“Oh, _hell_ no. I will punch you in the kidney.”

“You can’t punch me in the anything right now.”

“I will punch you in the kidney as soon as I can move.”

“Come on, Wes,” Travis cajoles, looking at his partner. “I’m not going to leave you in this dump. What if they come back? And you’re obviously not in well enough shape to walk out of here alone.”

“I am not being carried piggyback out of here, Travis. Go get help. I’ll wait here.”

Sometimes, Wes really makes Travis want to just drop his head in his hands. “Dammit, Wes, did you miss the part where they might come back? I’m not leaving you here. So come on. I got this.” He makes a motion with his hands.

There’s another long moment of silence. Then Wes sighs. “If you tell anyone about this, I’m going to shoot you and dump your body in the bay.”

“Understood.” Travis stares straight ahead and does his damnedest not to grin as Wes slumps against his back, draping his arms around Travis’s neck. Scooting back, tucking his arms under Wes’s legs, Travis shifts, taking most of Wes’s weight onto his own back. “You ready?”

Wes’s hands, shaky as they are, clasp around Travis’s neck, and in his peripherals Travis can see Wes’s head resting on his shoulder. “No. Not in the slightest. Just do it.”

The grin just gets wider at the defeated tone in Wes’s voice. Travis can _feel_ the dirty look his partner is giving him. He ignores it. “Alright-y then, one…two…hup!” On the last, he stands.

It is not quite like carrying any of his foster siblings or ‘girlfriends’ piggyback. Wes is heavier than any of them. Also, Wes is pretty much dead weight, thanks to the drugs, and Travis is willing to admit (to himself, never out loud) that his knees wobble a bit when he stands. Maybe the drugs aren’t completely out of his system either.

But he promised he’d get Wes out of here, and he’s not going alone. He’s not leaving Wes behind.

_Slow and steady_ , he thinks to himself, starting out into the hall. _Just take it slow and steady and it’ll be fine._

The office they were dumped in is on the second floor of this crappy abandoned warehouse. Travis is halfway down the stairs when Wes breaths a soft, “Travis?” on his neck.

Travis, to his credit, does _not_ jump and drop his drugged partner down the stairs. He’s quite proud of that. “Yeah Wes?”

“I think it’s the fat in your diet.”

Of all the things Wes _could_ have said, _that_ was not what Travis was expecting.

“Uh…what?”

“The fat. In your diet. It sucked up the drugs before it got into your bloodstream. I think that’s why you’re up and I’m not.”

Travis would have shot Wes an incredulous look, if Wes wasn’t hanging off his back like a spider monkey and he wasn’t heading down a set of stairs. “You just make this crap up, don’t you?”

“Do not.”

Travis huffs a laugh and continues down. At the bottom of the stairs, he pauses to catch his breath –because Wes is _heavy_ and no help at holding himself up and yeah, Travis probably _isn’t_ at his peak.

“Travis—” Wes starts, and Travis knows what Wes is going to say but _he’s not leaving his partner behind_ so he cuts Wes off by saying, “My diet is what’s saving us, right?”

It properly derails Wes. “That’s not what I meant at _all_.”

“Is too.” Travis grins and starts off again. “You said it’s the fat in my diet. If I ate nothing but greens like you do, I’d be just as limp and useless as you are. So basically, I’m the hero and we need to feed you more fast food.”

“Seriously. I will punch you in the throat. Stop. Talking.”

Travis beams at the annoyed tone in Wes’s voice and steps out of the ramshackle house into the sun.

\---

3\. _Chicken_

“Alright, why am I here?”

Wes is staring up at the overhang on Alex’s porch when Travis saunters up. “Did you bring it?” he says randomly, frowning up at the ceiling.

“Bring what?”

Wes brings his gaze down only to shoot Travis an annoyed look. “The stepladder, Travis. Did you bring your stepladder? _Like I asked_?” At Travis’s blank look, Wes sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Do you even listen to what I say when I call?”

“Not unless it’s about work,” Travis replies halfway honestly, stepping onto the porch and looking up like Wes was. “What do you need a stepladder for?”

Wes frowns up at the ceiling again. “Alex’s light burned out again. I offered to fix it but her stepladder is broken. Which is why I asked you to bring yours over.”

“Dude, really great job with the moving on thing. I’m proud to see how much progress you’re making. Because this isn’t creepy at all.”

Wes sniffs primly. “I am doing something for the house and saving her time and money instead of letting some conman swindle her. There’s nothing creepy about it.”

“Did you ever think that maybe the porch light wouldn’t burn out so much if you actually let an electrician do their job? I’ve got a foster brother who’s an electrician, he’d be willing to do it for cheap if I asked.”

“Of course your foster brother is an electrician,” Wes sighs, shaking his head. “No, Travis, it’s fine. I’ve got this. I just need to go get a stepladder.” He starts packing up his tools.

“What, seriously? You’re going to go buy a brand new stepladder? You’ve got everything set out right here to do the job.”

Wes gives Travis his _Are you really this stupid?_ look. “I can’t reach the light, Travis. Not without a _stepladder_. Which you conveniently forgot to bring.”

Travis looks up at the light. He looks at Wes. Then he looks up at the light and wonders why he’s offering even as he says, “If you sit on my shoulders, I think you can reach it.”

Wes freezes in his packing-up. “What?”

“Yeah, I think the height works out. If you sit on my shoulders, you can reach the light and change it out without having to buy a brand-new stepladder. It’ll save you, what, half an hour? Forty five minutes?”

His partner is giving him suspicious eyes. “Why are you offering?”

Travis just rolls his. “Because I’m a good partner and you shouldn’t be creeping around your ex-wife’s house unsupervised.” He crouches down, making a ‘come get me’ motion with his hands. “Alright, come on.”

“Travis, I’m not climbing up on your shoulders. You’ll drop me.”

“Wes!” Travis acts affronted. “Why would I drop you?” Wes doesn’t say anything. Travis rolls his eyes at his partner’s stubbornness. “Wes, do you trust me?”

“You know I do,” Wes says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world (which is somewhat flattering, because there are times when Travis isn’t sure).

“Then why would you think I would drop you?” Travis asks, because now he is genuinely curious.

Wes doesn’t hesitate with his answer. “Because you would think it’s funny and you’d laugh.”

Travis considers. “I…can see how you would think that,” he concedes, because okay, yeah, Wes kind of does have a point. “But I’m not going to drop you. I wouldn’t. I promise.”

Wes is quiet for a long moment, and Travis thinks that Wes is going to just pack up his stuff and leave anyway. Then he sighs and uncrosses his arms, and Travis hides a grin because that’s the sign that Wes has given in.

“This is ridiculous,” Wes says, which is just Wes-speak for _I think you’re stupid and I don’t want to do this but I don’t want to drive to the hardware store more so I’m going to do it but only under protest._ As proof, he’s already setting his tools out on the railing again.

There is a moment of utter, comic absurdity while getting everything situated. But then Travis is standing, and Wes is actually on his shoulders and Travis wishes someone was taking a picture of this because this is probably absolutely hilarious.

“If you drop me I will murder you and use your body as fertilizer,” Wes says. His tense hands belie his calm voice. Travis wisely doesn’t say anything.

“Wes, I said I wasn’t going to drop you. Have a little faith. Now what do you need?”

He hands up the screwdriver and light bulb, then carefully maneuvers them so Wes is right under the light. Wes tucks the light bulb in his pocket, braces his free hand against the ceiling, and starts unscrewing the plate.

He’s just finished the second of four screws when a car pulls into the driveway. Wes freezes, thighs tightening around Travis’s ears, which would be a really erotic sensation if it weren’t _Wes’s thighs_ doing the squeezing. Travis twists his head and gives her his _This isn’t what it looks like_ grin.

“Hi, Alex.

Alex stands in the yard with her mouth open, groceries hanging slack in her hands.

“Oh. My. God.”

She laughs for twenty minutes.

\---

4\. _Potato-Sack_

Sneakers crunch through the underbrush, and Travis shuffles his way around a bush, growling under his breath. Wes drapes over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, just as heavy and just as unresponsive.

“Goddammit Wes. For someone who eats so many green things, you sure are a heavy son of a bitch.”

He huffs, pushing a branch out of his face, and ducks when it tries to come back and whap him in the eye. “And don’t tell me it’s because muscle weighs more than fat. You’re a skinny beanpole, you don’t _have_ any muscle.”

Where they hell are they? Some place full of trees. What forests are near LA?

Travis wishes Wes is awake. Wes would know this sort of thing. Probably has a whole map of the state scanned into his hard drive of a brain.

“Seriously, are your bones made of lead? Why are you so _heavy_?”

His currently non-functioning brain, because he is unconscious and those bastards hit him with something and what if it did something? Brain injuries could seriously...well, _injure_ a brain.

What if Wes wakes up and he isn’t quite Wes because Travis hung him upside down after he got his skull rattled around?

Travis isn’t going to think about it.

“I’m going to make all sorts of fun for this. You know that, right?”

He’s going to just keep walking until he finds a road. And then he’ll get them some help.

“It’ll be epic.”

And then everything will be alright.

“Wes? Please say something.”

Because if Wes says something, then it will be a sign that everything really will be alright.

Travis can do anything if Wes is at his side. He doesn’t know if he can be so effective on his own.

“Fine. Don’t say anything. Ignore me. Whatever. I don’t care.”

Silence has weight. An actual, tangible weight.

Travis is carrying it all on his shoulder.

“It’ll be alright, you know? I’ll get us out of here.”

He will. He’ll walk until his legs fall off, if that’s what it takes. He won’t stop for anything.

Except a car. Or a phone. Or a building. Or _some_ sign of civilization.

But not for anything else.

“We’ll be fine.”

The ground shifts to a minor incline. Travis shifts to accommodate, changing his grip marginally so Wes won’t slip off his shoulder.

“We have to be fine.”

They will be. They absolutely will be. Travis is the goddamn little engine that could and he is not stopping for _anything_.

They. Will. Be. _Fine_.

“Wes?”

Wes says nothing, draped unconscious over Travis’s shoulder.

Travis bites his lip and continues walking.

\---

5\. _Bridal_

When Travis staggers into the hotel lobby with one arm under Wes’s legs and one arm under Wes’s back, all he can do is thank god that there’s so few witnesses to this awkwardness. The last thing he needs is people actually seeing him carrying his partner back home like a bride. As it is, it’s two in the morning and the only person in the lobby is the night shift manager, who hardly spares the two of them a glance.

It’s an anniversary. Alex’s birthday or their wedding day or the day they first met, Travis doesn’t know. He _does_ know that it hits Wes hard, that Wes was silent and pensive all day and he had this dark sad look in his eyes and this drooping sad slope to his shoulders and Travis was worried. A little. Maybe.

He couldn’t say he was too surprised to go after Wes and find his partner drinking. He _could_ say he was surprised at how _much_ his partner was drinking, though.

Anniversaries can be hard. Especially for someone like Wes, who clings to the few connections he has like a life raft. And Travis, being the good friend that he is, helped his partner through the messy day by sitting with him while he drank, and is now staggering through the hotel lobby, carrying Wes like a bride.

“This is completely humiliating, you know,” he mutters to Wes as he shlepps to the elevator. 

He _did_ try other, less embarrassing means of carrying, since Wes was being _absolutely_ no help in the whole walking department, but both the fireman carry and the potato-sack carry made Wes threaten to throw up down his back, and Wes couldn’t even be bothered to try hanging on when Travis tried to carry him piggyback. The bridal carry was really the only option that worked.

“This really sucks, you know that?” he growls, shifting so he can jab the ‘up’ button without losing grip.

Wes, who has been blessedly silent the whole awkward trip, suddenly looks up at Travis with bleary eyes. “Travis, am I good looking?”

Travis chokes a little. “The hell?”

Wes waves an arm expansively, nearly hitting Travis in the face. “I mean, I don’t _think_ I’m ugly or anything. Sure, I’m not a stud muffin, but I’m decent enough, right?”

“Sure,” Travis says absently, mind stuck on ‘stud muffin’. He watches the LED numbers count down and tries not to think about it. The elevator could come along any time now…

“So it’s my personality. No one loves me because I suck.”

“People love you,” Travis responds without thinking, because his mouth has a bad habit of doing that when he’s not paying attention. _9…8…7…_

“Who?”

“Lots of people.”

An arm wraps around Travis’s neck, and Wes pulls himself up so he’s slumping on Travis’s shoulder rather than draping over his arm. “Who?” A blonde head rests on his shoulder, and Travis can feel Wes’s breath ghosting across his neck. “Alex left me. My parents don’t talk to me anymore. Everyone at work hates me. And you…”

_4…3…2…_

Wes lifts his head and stares right in Travis’s eyes. “You…have really blue eyes.”

This has suddenly become awkward. More awkward, because it’s been awkward since Travis realized the only way to carry Wes is _the freaking bridal carry_. Travis thinks he preferred it when Wes was ranting about being a stud muffin.

_Ding!_

“Oh thank god.” He turns sideways so Wes’s legs will actually fit. “Watch your head.”

Wes grumbles a sigh and lets his head drop back on Travis’s shoulder.

At least he’s not talking about Travis’s eyes anymore. This is so full of awkward. Using his fingertips more than his eyes, he finds the correct button and pushes, giving silent thanks when the door slides shut. Almost over. He’ll tuck Wes into bed and go home and…no he won’t, he’ll try and sleep on Wes’s lumpy hotel couch just in case Wes starts choking on his own vomit in the middle of the night because that’s what partners _do_ for each other, they carry each other home and make sure they don’t choke and die in the middle of the night.

_It’s totally kind of sad that THIS is what my date night is reduced to, isn’t it?_ he can’t help thinking. Then he stops thinking it immediately because that is petty and bitter and Travis is a good partner and refuses to be petty and bitter when Wes is having such a crap day.

He glances over to see how Wes is doing (and to make sure Wes isn’t going to do anything horrible like vomit down his shirt). Wes’s eyes are closed, and he looks…calm. Peaceful. Open. He looks absolutely unlike himself.

It’s not a bad look. Wes should let down his guard more often.

“I hope that when you wake up in the morning, you remember that I was an amazing friend and didn’t make a video of this and post it online. Because that’s important.”

Wes just grumbles and snuggles into his shoulder, and Travis is _so_ , so glad it’s the middle of the night and no one is there to witness this. As delightful as it is to see Wes relax, neither of them would want this brought up. Ever again.

Because really, this is just not what they do.

There’s no one on the floor either, because all the sane people are sleeping right now, so Travis gets Wes to his door without incident. Dropping Wes’s legs, he supports his partner on his shoulder and starts digging in Wes’s shirt and jacket pockets.

“Where are your keys?”

Wes’s knees go wobbly and boneless; Travis blames the alcohol, curses, and lurches to the side. “Stop that. Right now. And no more drinking. You obviously can’t handle it and _I_ end up carrying you home. _Literally_.” He shoves his hand down Wes’s pants pocket.

“Seriously, here the hell are your keys?”

“Oh, Travis, we’ve only known each other for seven years and you’re already putting your hand down my pants? Aren’t you moving a little too fast?”

Travis rolls his eyes and unlocks the door, scooping to pick Wes’s legs again. “Wow. Okay. Definitely no more drinking for you.” Feeling along the wall for a light switch, he steps into the room, blinking as the lights come on. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Wes sniggers and lets his head loll back. “Bet you say that to _all_ the girrrls,” he slurs with what Travis thinks is supposed to be a leer.

“You are _so_ wasted,” Travis says with fond exasperation as he (almost) tenderly deposits Wes on the bed. “Do me a favor and get out of your shoes while I grab you some water, okay?” He pauses just long enough to make sure Wes isn’t going to do something ridiculous like roll off the bed, then goes to the little mini-fridge. He does _think_ about getting a glass of water from the tap, but he knows Wes, and he knows Wes won’t drink anything from the pipes and he’ll complain about unsafe contaminants and minerals in the water. (Travis has heard that rant enough times to know it by heart.) So he doesn’t even bother.

He returns with a water bottle in his hands to find Wes has not moved an inch, staring at the ceiling with the saddest, most twisted puppy-dog look on his face. Great. They’ve passed through the happy-carefree-drunk stage and moved right into the melancholy-introspection stage. Wonderful. Travis always hates this part, and Wes has enough baggage that Travis can’t deal with on a normal day. This is gonna be fun.

“Here, drink this,” he orders, pulling Wes upright and placing the bottle in his partner’s hand. When he’s sure Wes isn’t about to drop it, he moves lower, undoing Wes’s shoelaces and pulling the polished shoes off.

He lines the shoes up at the foot of the bed ---because hell, he doesn’t know where Wes puts them, but at least he can make them all neat and orderly to match Wes’s OCD--- and when he glances back up Wes is staring at him with a mix of the kicked-puppy look and baffled confusion.

Travis doesn’t quite know what to do with that look so he makes a gesture with his hands. “Alright. Jacket and tie now.”

Wes doesn’t fight him. Wes doesn’t help him, either. Wes simply stares at Travis like Travis has grown a third head and lets Travis do whatever he wants, which in this case includes slipping Wes out of his jacket and tie. (Travis could probably make Wes do _anything_ in this state. Travis is not that morally bankrupt. Doesn’t stop him from running through various scenarios in his head.)

Wes hasn’t moved to drink the water at all and is just sitting there, swaying a little and watching Travis. Travis pretends he’s not getting a little unsettled by Wes’s increasingly persistent stare and moves to hang up the jacket, because this is Wes’s place and Wes wouldn’t appreciate Travis throwing it over the back of a chair like he would if they were at his trailer and Travis is a _nice person_ no matter what Wes says.

“I’m sorry, Travis.”

Travis pauses, hanger in hand, turning to look at his partner. Wes is no longer wearing the kicked-puppy look. This look is more akin to puppy-was-shoved-in-a-sack-and-dumped-in-the-river-and-left-to-die look. It’s much worse.

Unintentionally, Travis pitches his voice lower, turns up ‘gentle and understanding’ a notch higher when he asks, “For what?” It’s not quite the voice he uses on a victim’s family member. It’s close.

Wes hardly notices the change in tone. Instead, he flops back onto the bed and stares at the ceiling, and his voice is just as glum and depressed as his face.

“I’m sorry for being…me. I keep taking and taking and I never give anything back, and I’m sorry you hate me.”

Wes starts talking all stretched out, looking at the ceiling. He ends up curled on his side, cuddling the unopened water bottle like it’s a damn security blanket. He looks sad and hurt and vulnerable, and it makes something in Travis’s chest twinge.

Travis takes a breath. This isn’t his forte. This is all _emotions_ and _feelings_ and connection and Travis isn’t good at any of that. But this is also Wes, and if there’s one thing Travis knows, it’s that:

“I don’t hate you, Wes.”

“But you don’t like me,” Wes says, voice dark and sad and resigned. “Even people on ecstasy don’t like me.”

Travis’s heart clenches again as he hears his own words come out of Wes’s mouth. They were supposed to be a joke. Apparently Wes took them a little more seriously than Travis had.

Abandoning both jacket and hanger, Travis moves to the side of the bed and crouches so he’s eye to bleary drunken eye.

“I do like you, Wes,” Travis says, as clearly as possible so it’ll penetrate the alcoholic haze in his partner’s brain. “On good days, I like you a lot. On bad days, you’re kind of an ass. You’re my partner and sometimes you’re my friend and I trust you more than anyone and I like you.”

And that would be it, except something else Wes said is nagging at him and he can’t get up, not just yet. No matter how uncomfortable he is with all this sharing and intimacy going on. He can’t just leave it like this, because he can’t let Wes feel bad about their partnership when they’re just learning to get along again.

Travis takes a breath and works out the words in his head. This is progress. Travis is _willingly_ talking about feelings. Dr. Ryan would be proud. Too bad Wes probably won’t remember it and Travis has no intention of ever talking about it.

“Look, Wes, I know we have our bad times, but we’re partners. You can take all you want, and I’ll still carry you whenever you need it. And even if I grumble, _I’ll still do it_ , because I know you’d do the same for me.”

Slowly, Travis reaches out, resting his hand on Wes’s head in a way he’s done with his foster siblings. Travis is a tactile person; Wes is not. Right now, though, Wes sighs and leans into the touch, and Travis will never bring it up first.

“There’s no scorecard, man, no tally. I’ll be there when you need me, and you’ll be there when I need you, because that’s what partners do. There’s nothing you can do that would make me hate you.”

Wes pulled his gun on Travis (for Travis’s own good, he’ll admit it), and even _that_ didn’t make Travis hate him. Hell, they’re in _marriage counseling_ together and they’re still trying. Seven years, and the bonds they’ve got are stronger than titanium, no matter how much bickering and fighting they get into.

Wes blinks bleary eyes at mutters a small, “Really?” and Travis gives him a reassuring smile.

“Really.”

Wes nods a little under Travis’s hand and his eyes droop, but he mumbles a hesitant, “Will you stay?”

Even after all those _feelings_ Travis just spilled, Wes still asks the question like he thinks Travis will leave anyway. That hurts. They’re definitely going to need to work on it.

“Of course,” is all he says, pulling the untouched water bottle from Wes’s hands. By the time he stands and pulls the comforter over his partner, Wes is already asleep.

He looks untroubled, but Travis knows there’s so much more going on.

Sighing, he kicks off his shoes and settles on the couch.

He lets his eyes drift closed, but he keeps one ear open for any noise Wes might make in his sleep. And if there’s anything out of the ordinary, Travis will be there.

He’ll carry Wes however far he needs to go, no matter how strange or awkward or embarrassing.

Because that’s what partners do.

**Author's Note:**

> Quote at the beginning is said by a guest character in the amazing _Firefly_ episode “The Message.”


End file.
